I'm not a fiction writer... nor a soap opera star...

...then WHY is my life full of so much DRAMA???

or does it just seem that way because every post i write seems to be the end of the world because i'm to busy to pop in on good days to write a witty anecdote of some cute thing gobbles did?  like tuesday, he threw a bowl at me while i was on the phone with an engineer because i stopped paying attention to him for 2 minutes during my multitasking-mom-work-from-home-with-a-sick-child day.  i ended up covered in chicken soup, gobbles clapping, and the engineer laughing on the other end of the line telling me he's been through it all before, he understands.

that moment, was not even close to the worst moment of the week.  not even close.

i promise i'll stay away from the heavy stuff as long as it promises to stay away from me... so hopefully the next post will be more about soup-throwing fun.  this one, however, is about my other baby.

gobbles' best friend cannoli. he'll be 5 on saturday.  and i'm thanking god that right now that it looks like we'll make it to then...

best buds... taken a few weeks ago

please note that my son went into the crate himself... i'm not that bad of a mom

so as usual, i'm way ahead of myself as i tend to get when i'm emotionally and physically exhausted.  this past weekend, despite mr. gobbles' rampant stomach bug (think enough puke to warrant two middle of the night crib sheet changes & baths, ending with him sleeping on my chest on the couch, giant tupperware bowl ready next to us), we decided to take a trip north to visit our in-laws.  the dogs typically accompany us but since it was going to be kinda hectic with a lot of running around we just decided to board them.  besides, they needed a bath. so off to our old trusted pal the hippie lady they went.

after a full weekend of things that should be discussed in a different post with a better mood, i woke up sunday morning to my phone ringing.  before i was even completely awake, the hippie lady was yammering in my ear about how it was her fault and her dog knocked the bottle off the counter and she's so sorry and she'll pay. and they're getting ready to go to the hospital... wait, what?  when she woke up in the morning cannoli wasn't moving and there was vomit all around him... and an empty advil bottle.  she couldn't tell me how much advil he ingested. just get him to the hospital, we're on our way.

hubs and i were in the car and speeding back in a fog before we knew it.  we decided to leave gobbles with hubs' dad and worry about coming back to get him later.  early on in the ride the hippie lady called to let us know they were at the hospital, but she didn't have a credit card they required to open a poison control case.  without question, i read her the numbers from the card as it trembled in my hand.  the miles on the pennsylvania turnpike seem endless and the slowass left lane drivers are annoying on a normal day. when the fate of a loved one is up in the air driving down that road on a bright sunny day in lighter than normal traffic is still pure torture.

then the phone rang again.  the doctor told us that cannoli was in a coma.  completely unresponsive.  they were flushing his system and testing him for liver and kidney function.  they couldn't give us a guess as to what they would find.  since we don't know how much he ingested, we don't know how much damage there is.  we've seen some dogs fight through this, but right now it doesn't look good....they asked me how far away we were because they needed to discuss how far we would take it. "Anything!" i sobbed, "we'll pay anything to save my baby..."

 

my husband is not an overtly emotional person.  i've seen him well up exactly twice in our eleven and a half years together, and both of these were times of joy.  his eyes glistened fondly as i marched up the aisle with a huge grin on my face the day we wed.  i watched a tear roll down his cheek as the doctor congratulated him on his new baby gobbles.  this sunday, for the first time, i saw my husband cry tears of fear, of sadness.  as i hung up the phone with the vet and told him to drive faster, he could read it in my eyes that something was wrong.  and he lost it. 

seeing hubs break down was hard, as he has always been a rock in situations like this.  i squeezed his hand and we drove the rest of the way in silence. 

when we arrived at the hospital we were brought into a room where the doctor again reiterated that they could not tell us anything we wanted to hear right, that we just need to wait.  they led us back to the ICU where alone in the corner under a pile of blankets laid my dog, hooked up to three different machines and trembling.  i ran over and dropped to my knees to kiss him, tell him i loved him, and stroke him behind his ears.  hubs followed close behind, whispering hey buddy, we're here.  we again sat in silence and shock that our little guy, who wags his nub at everything and is always licking someone's face just laid there limp. 

the nurse explained he had a heated blanket on to get his body temperature back up (normal for a dog is 101, he came in at 92), which would then help his blood pressure increase and allow them to run more fluids through his system.  she also told us that since we had another dog (our spoonsie bear!!!) that could have been exposed, it'd be in our best interest to keep her overnight for fluid flush and observation. 

hubs left to go retrieve spoons, and i made a few calls to let some people know what was going on.  and to ask for prayers.  i feel like a hypocrite asking sometimes since i haven't been to church in god knows how long, but i still do.  i've been doing that a lot lately it seems...

we stayed with our buddy for a few hours then the nurses told us to take a break while they did some procedures.  we ran home, cleaned up, and trekked back up the turnpike where my father-in-law graciously met us halfway to deliver Gobbles.  as we drove back we got a call from the nurse - cannoli opened his eyes!  she said to not get our hopes up because this can typically happen, in fact dogs can follow a three day path to recovery and go into renal failure at the end.  i tried not to get excited, but the news was like a single ray of light through a dark stormy sky... we became cautiously optimistic.

the positive outlook lasted as long as the car ride, because we walked through our front door and felt it again.  the worry, the panic.  this time, from a child's eyes.  Gobbles ran into the living room yelling go go GO!  -his instructions for the dogs to go eat.  he stopped suddenly and looked around.  then at Cannoli's crate, then at me, big question marks in his eyes. Gogs?? he asked, almost frantically.  i scooped him up and gave him a tight hug.  "they'll be home soon, honey", silently willing myself to believe my own words.

guess i'll just practice with an empty leash..

we made arrangements for my mom to come watch Gobbles for a bit while we went back up to visit our puppy.  he was awake, but still lethargic and eyes glazed over, not really recognizing us.  the next few days with each visit - a morning and a night, our old pal cannoli slowly emerged from behind the battered body, now shaved in weird places and riddled with holes from IVs and blood tests.  i knew he was back when, after a rough day at work and a visit that brought me back to sane, i said goodnight and he pranced back to the ICU with the nurse, knocking his catheter out and spilling pee all over the floor, wagging his butt nonchalantly as if that's what's supposed to happen.  that's my boy. 

spoons of course checked out fine and was able to come home after 24 hours.  gobbles was thrilled to see one of his puppies happy and well.



c'mere you

finally... after four harrowing days... they discharged my little fighter.  i am amazed and relieved and grateful and thrilled that though all dogs go to heaven, heaven's going to have to wait for my buddy cannoli.  as the doctor read the discharge papers to me last night, dog arrived comatose, her words echoed in my mind and i flashed back to his cold, shuddering little body from sunday.  i was filled with emotion thinking about how he doesn't even know what he's been through, what we've been through, he's just ready to get back to life.

we've got some work ahead of us - followup appointments, enough meds to open a pharmacy, and finding a new trustworthy boarder, but our little family is ready to handle it together, day by day...


momma's tough guy

but somehow he's the same ol' dog!

the next week of our lives - hour by hour...

sorting through the mess in my head

have you ever gotten to the point where there is so much going on you just want to close your eyes and have it all sorted out for you? it's been one of those years weeks. every time i feel like all my ducks are in a row another one marches in wait - don't forget about me!


i hate to just vent and whine and complain, but i'm so overwhelmed that i don't even know what to try and straighten out first. my emotions are everywhere because the genetic testing gobbles needs cannot be done until july. waiting is not my strong suit. waiting on something that could possibly affect the future of my family, planning, and just family planning feels like someone just opened up my brain, took all the files out, and threw them over a ledge. half of them are still getting caught up in wind gusts, having yet to flutter to the ground.

i guess i have a touch of ocd - because i don't have control over this one thing, every other aspect of my life feels unsettled. i've been sick for two weeks, the house is a disgusting mess, i haven't meticulously balanced the checkbook in awhile, the aforementioned sickness has forced me to stop training for a race i have in three weeks, work is just so ridiculous i can't even get starte on the demanding maniacs i report to, i've dragged my husband to numerous open houses in search of a new one, a fresh start, just more room to put all our crap- and at the same time complained that our house is in no condition to sell because it needs to be cleaned and touched up and fixed.

and all i've done is complain. i have not been proactive in any of these areas (save for a few cough drops) to try to better my situation or check something off the list that can be taken care of now.  i've become my own worst enemy.

instead i wait. first it was let's wait and see how gobble's glasses work out. guess what? they're perfect. he wears them and he loves them and he looks adorable.  so now from the outside it looks as all is resolved, but july is still months away, and as much as i want to i cannot put my life on hold until then...

i know i typically thrive on stress but this is just ridiculous.  stop, breathe, and realize that the ONLY thing that matters is that gobbles is happy.  the house will get clean, it just may take awhile; i'll run broad street, just a few (like twenty!) minutes slower than a few years ago; work will calm down, at least the crazies will move on to someone else to harass; and we have a cute house in a great neighborhood, who really needs a mudroom, right?
 
nothing matters besides happy baby, happy husband, happy mom = happy home...  a few spare hours added on to each day wouldn't hurt either.

rant over.  look at my beautiful little boy.  enough to melt away any problems, right?

momma's little professor

don't let them see you cry

i have a secret.  i'm sure those that know me well have gotten a peek through the strong woman facade i try to put off. 

because the truth is, i've had some insecurities that ran pretty deep for a large part of my life, most of them having to do with things i cannot control- physical appearance and other things.  i learned as i got older to cover them up with sarcasm.  make everything a big joke when everyone's around, cry about it later if necessary.  but now that i've become a mom, none of that seemed to matter anymore.  gobbles is priority number one, so worrying about parts of myself that cannot be changed just seem trivial.

it's not about me anymore.

yesterday we headed down to a specialist for what we thought would be a short procedure to unclog his left tear duct, which never cleared up on its own.  instead, the appointment was only a pre-evaluation complete with eye exam to make sure everything was good to go for the procedure to be scheduled at a later time.  things were going fine as they ran a few tests, confirming the clog and looking at a few other things.  they put some drops in his eyes and told us to go back to the waiting room for thirty minutes and we'd be called back in.

we enjoyed that time with gobbles as he ran like a maniac around the long halls of the hospital, laughing and squealing when we'd catch him.  relieved that he wasn't having a procedure that day after all, i was a little lighter on my feet, thinking he'd just get a quick pupil check and we'd be on our way.

instead, after we returned to the exam room, doctor after doctor came in and performed the same test.  still not thinking anything of it, i held my squirming toddler tight as he tried to ward off the lenses they were sticking in front of his eyes and the lights they were shining in.

after the third doctor came in for a consult, they sat us down.  your son is extremely nearsighted.  he needs a prescription of minus eleven.  he needs glasses immediately and we have to bring him back here for testing to rule out genetic disorder.  after all of that is sorted out, then we can worry about the tear duct.

it was like a sucker punch.  glasses.  tears stung my eyes as my mind flashed back to a 7th grade basketball game.  we were in the gym of a rival school's team playing on a friday night.  for some reason the boys from our school came in to watch.  i was running down the court in my rec specs, hoping the floorboards would open up and i would disappear into the fabric of the court.  see, i had a nice pair of wire rims for school and stuff, but their fragility led my mom to justify getting the cheapest ugliest plastic frames for sports.  complete with zebra print band.  i felt like a dork, but it was ok.  i mean nobody watches girls' sports other than parents, right?  when the boys showed up, i remember thinking.  great.  just another thing for them to make fun of me about.  because kids at that age can be downright cruel.

my mind snapped back as the doctor asked if we had questions.  is this his baseline?  is this minus eleven the BEST gobbles is ever going to see?  the doctor told us that yes, his sight will go down with age just as other nearsighted people do. 

my mind was spinning, tears flowing. i am a minus 6.5 and am blind as a bat without my glasses or contacts.  you're telling me my 15 month old son has eyes that are almost TWICE as bad as my own at 30?  the doctor confirmed, and reiterated that is the reason they wanted to perform more tests, to make sure that is the only thing.  i started firing questions what about his future? will he be able to do everything other normal kids do? 

he will, but even if he got contacts he'll have to wear protective goggles for sports to take precaution against retinal detachment.  bam.  rec specs. a left hook.

after more back and forth, none of which i can really remember, we left, full of anxiety and fear.  when we got in the car my husband and i discussed the chances of the worst case.  the reason for the further testing gobbles must have some time in the future.  the doctor made it seem like it was just a precaution, so we are trying not to worry about it now.  the fact that my son cannot see is worry enough...

my husband asked if i was ok, and it all came out.  i don't want my baby to ever have to be insecure about anything.  this is just ammunition for other kids to make fun of him!  i can't believe it.  it's my fault.  he assured me that they won't be made fun of, that i was projecting my own insecurities all over him.  true, i guess.  but i argued further.  you don't know what it's like!  to be at the pool and not being able to see your friends, to be on the beach and come out of the ocean and try to find your towel again half blind.  christ, just to wake up in the middle of the night and feel around for your glasses so you can look at the clock.  you don't understand!

my husband assured me that everything will be ok.  he's not sick (pending the results of the aforementioned tests), and he's still a happy guy.  and happiness is all that matters, if it comes with a few inconveniences than so be it. 

we're both still pretty shocked that our boy has been walking around half blind, but some things are making sense.  the lack of interest in the tv, only crawling to us at daycare when he hears our voices, and crying when i'm just five feet away because he can't see me are all very clear now.  the doctor assured as that his world will grow so much when he gets the glasses, and he will be much happier.

i know things will be all right.  but i pray that since he got his eyesight from his momma, he'll at least get his confidence from his daddy.

and in the meantime, i will never let him see me cry.

Days like these

Our days have begun to pick up and run together again, blurring the line between winter and spring, and all of the sudden we've found ourselves in mid-march with an energetic fifteen month old who loves daylight savings more than anyone else, except that pesky part of trying adjust to bedtime an "hour earlier". 

The house is in need of a good scrub, the dogs need baths and manicures, weeks' worth of clean clothes remain to be put away, and toys are strewn across the house as far as the eye can see.  Yet, it doesn't bother me.  Our little family has spent the last few weeks recouping from the harsh winter (well, harsh end of winter at least), just doing what we do best - hanging out and having fun. 

Sure, work stress is at an all time high, but I've taken to running during lunchtime, which not only helps me blow off steam that would otherwise leave me tearing up in anger at the idiocy of an egotistical maniac, but it's giving me more time to sleep in, make Gobble's breakfast & lunch in the morning, or just be.  Bonuses are that I don't eat the sweets strewn about the office and that if my 4th metatarsal holds up, I'm on track for broad street. 

So back to the fun. 

I absolutely LOVE this age.  Yes there are diapers, yes there is a paci (for sleeping only), yes there is the occasional barf (sorry again sis about your birthday cake!!).  But there are no bottles to warm up, no baby food to mush, and no bedtime blues.  If Gobbles doesn't feel like going to sleep, then he'll lay in his crib talking to himself for an hour without fussing (as long as the aforementioned pacifier doesn't fall out of the crib.  yikes.)

And my boy?  Smartest little man ever.  But he may have his Momma's stubbornness as well (or Daddy's... he may be more stubborn than me!).  Last Tuesday morning, for the first time since we heard him say the word six months ago, Gobbles began running around the house.  Mommma, Momma, Mom-MAAA!!!!  This after MONTHS of calling me Da-Da to get a rise out of me.  And yes, it was purely for a rise, because he'd call me Dada, I'd say, "No, MAMMA", and he'd laugh and shake his head no, sending us all into fits of giggles.

But, ever since last week, my heart leaps out of my chest every time I hear those two little syllables, Mom-ma.  A finger point directed at me along with the word makes me fall to pieces with joy.
Gobbles is funny like that.  He knows a lot more than he lets on, and just waits for the right time to let it out.  Earlier this week, after he'd gone to bed, hubs and I hear a very distinct, "Hi!" come from his room.  We flip the monitor on and turn up the volume, assuming he'd managed to turn on one of his talking animals.  "Hi, Hi, Hi!".  We both looked at each other - assuring the other that we were not hiding any new words, we'd really never heard him say it before.  Next day at daycare, I asked, "Um, so does Gobbles say Hi?".  Oh yes, he says hi all the time! 

That little bugger. 

I told them of the night before and they just laughed well, that's Gobbles.  He only says what he needs to, but then again, it's hard to get him to stop...hmmm not sure why he's holding back "Hi". Ahh.  So the poor child is conflicted it seems with that DNA combo we gave him.  His father's dry reserve coupled with his mother's incessant need to overshare - one will have to win out in the end, we'll have to wait and see which.

Another new word he frequents now is Again (Gan!). I've started playing ring around the rosie (black plague be damned) with him, and he LOVES it.  Half the time he falls down a little early, but as soon as I'm on the ground next to him?  Gan, Gan, Gan! as he holds out his hands.  And boy, the physical demand of getting up and down off the floor to play 27 times in a row is actually really hard, and I consider myself somewhat in shape.  Gobbles loves this game so much that he'll randomly abandon a toy and run over to me, pulling my arms out and positioning my hands so we can go another round.

So as of now it looks like our words of choice are Dada, Momma, Wiggle, Dog, Stop, Go, Car, Bus, Again, This, That, Ball, Cheese, and a few others I can't think of at the moment.  The words Gobbles understands but doesn't say yet are innumerable.  Ask him to go get his shoes and he gets them, tell him to say hi to Spoons and he runs over to give her a hug.  Direct him to play with Cannoli and he finds a toy on the ground, approaches him, and sticks the toy into the dog's mouth. 

I could go on and on, and don't get me wrong, it's not bragging, I'm just amazed at how much my boy can do when a year ago he couldn't even roll over.  That and I feel the need to list things here since the baby book has gone untouched for so long, I need to document these things somewhere!

So our weekends have been filled with playtime, talking, laughter, and trips to the playground.  Gobbles had his first (and second) trips to the park recently.  I don't know why it took us so long to get there, but being a winter baby by the time he was big enough to go I was back at work and chaos ruled.  Anyway, he has an irrational fear of the swings which I actually find quite cute.  But the slides and the captains wheel?  We could go up and down or spin spin spin all. day. long.  Typically, Mommy or Daddy will get tired of getting tangled up going down the twisty slide (seriously, no fun as an adult!) and call it a day.  But it's ok, because we usually take that energy from the park and come back to our own backyard chasing the puppies around until naptime. 

The only downside of all this fun is the complete lack of pictures.  I've been taking hubs' advice and living life for what it is, instead of watching from behind a camera.  So, I've got a few cell phone shots but that's about it....

But never fear, I've been taking pics all week of my lil Irish lad in his St. Patty's day pride.  That'll be for the next post!


I'm on top of the worrlllllld!




Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!



So much fun to be had in my own backyard!



Look at those puppies run!

Just wait one minute and this lawn will be mowed!

and then the rain came.

I went to bed Sunday night thinking what a wonderful weekend it had been.  Gobbles was back to himself and then some, eating like a machine and playing and laughing like never before.  A cousin had her first baby, a beautiful little girl who we cannot wait to meet.  Friends of ours who have been together forever got engaged, and we were thrilled by the happy journey on which they're to embark.

And then the rain came.

Phone calls before the sun is up on Monday morning never bring good news.  Eleven months and six days after his lovely bride Babe passed, my grandpop, Mickey, decided it was time to join her.  The past year has been a series of ups and downs healthwise, and recently Grandpop was showing signs that he was ready.  He missed my Grandmom dearly and since her passing has spoken often of the times they've talked while he was sleeping. 
Despite his waning health, Mick still had moments of mental sharpness to the end.  On Sunday when we visited, after telling us what a good family he raised, how we're all good kids, he talked about now it's even with twenty, ten and ten.  He was referring to my cousin's new baby girl, number 19 of the great- grandchildren, who will soon be joined by her sister's baby girl, due in six weeks, making 20.  Part of me feels like Grandpop just held on this week in order to be able to deliver accurate news of their legacy to Grandmom, as the gender of this new baby was a surprise.  My Grandpop was a man who was always very meticulous about numbers and details. 

He had to be meticulous in order to provide for his eleven children.  Long after they had moved out of the house, he was still working on stretching his money in odd ways.  My grandparents' basement would be a stockroom of toilet paper and salad dressing, because if there was a buy one get one sale, the local acme was the place to find Mick.  He would even bypass the "limit two" restriction by repeatedly purchasing his items, bringing them to his car, and returning to the store to buy more.  I remember another creative way he'd make money after retirement was duping the credit card companies.  He would max out cash from zero percent cards, invest the cash in a high interest account, earn interest, and take the money back out to pay the credit card bills upon their due date.  So basically he was gaining interest off of someone else's money.  A lot of effort for probably not that much money, but it gave the old man something to do, and more importantly it made him proud.  He would always talk of these schemes with a glint in his eye knowing he was beating the system somehow.

When he wasn't yelling at someone to turn the thermostat down, or yelling at his kids about parking the car (he was really hard of hearing at the end, so the yelling is kind of a given), Mick had a soft gentle side as well.  Even though Gobbles will not remember, he is so lucky to have met his Great-Grandpop.  When Grandpop first met my child, who happened to be a little large in the beginning, he exclaimed, "wow this kid's heavy.  he's a monster!".  And the nickname stuck.  Every time my mom would visit, he'd ask How's that monster? But then when he'd see Gobbles again he'd be ever so gentle in talking to him and having him sit on his lap.  He even yelled at my mom one time, Stop talking so loud, you're scarin the kid! 

Just this past Sunday, he asked if Gobbles was walking yet. "Of course" we told him, "you knew that".  Well, said Grandpop, I think you're going to need a bigger house, because he's a monster! 

Opinionated with the right touch of sarcasm... Mick's humor & advice may seem offensive from the outside but for those close we know its all out of love (and usually pretty practical as well, harsh as the truth may be sometimes).  Sound familiar?  Yea, so that must be where I got it.  Thanks for that trait Grandpop, I consider it one of my best (and worst).

My mother is number two of eleven. I am number eleven of twenty-eight.  My son is number fifteen of nineteen (so far).  We are just a few of this wonderful family that you are so proud of.  We love you and will miss you Grandpop.  Give Grandmom a hug for me and take good care of her, as you always have.